


I'd Stop the World for You

by mylegsaremine



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Derek & Stiles are childhood friends, Eventual Smut, Fantasy AU, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Making Out, Sad Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylegsaremine/pseuds/mylegsaremine
Summary: The Scholars of Spellcraft are the kingdoms way of training all of those with magical ability. Twice a year they cross the country, resting only on the Solstice in a small hold in the center of the kingdom.This land is held for the king by the countess Lady Hale, whose son Derek hates when his family hosts the Scholars. Until one solstice when there's a new scholar with the group. An odd young boy named Stiles who keeps accidentally stopping time.Derek and Stiles begin a friendship that will lead them to eventual lovers."Her voice cut off. When she did not continue, he glanced up at her. Her mouth hung open mid-word and her eyes remained unblinking. He looked past her to where Laura stood, just as unmoving. His eyes darted around the room. No one even twitched.When he caught sight of the candles up on the chandelier, he knew something was really off. The flames did not flicker. The golden light they cast off that normally wavered across the walls was still. 'Wha-''You’re not frozen?' The boy in front of him was staring at him with eyes wide.'What is-' but he was interrupted by what sounded like a tremendous gust of wind rushing through his ears as the world resumed."
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	1. The Youngest Scholar

**Author's Note:**

> This story starts with Stiles at the age of 6 and Derek at the age of 9. It spans about 12 years.  
> In the notes at the beginning of each chapter, I'll include the characters' ages for that chapter for clarity's sake. It's all pretty PG-rated until they start to get into their later teen years. Then things get a little steamier.

The trim on his collar was scratchy against his neck, the top button too high and pinching it too close to his throat. His sleeves were too stiff. His shoes hurt his heels. He hated getting dressed up like this and then lined up on display with his siblings. At the moment, he longed for nothing more than to change out of these overly opulent clothes and go play down in the stables. Yet he was stuck. Imprisoned purely by the chains of social convention and propriety.

“Mother wouldn’t like that,” Cora chided from beside him as his fingers fumbled with the button.

“Shut up,” he grumbled out the side of his mouth.

“She’s right,” Laura said from his left. Her long black hair lay plainly, sleek and smooth, over her shoulders. Not a single strand was out of place. Her hands were clasped neatly behind her, her shoulders back as she smirked at her little brother. “Come on, Der. You’ve been doing this since you were born. Just stand there, smile and look pretty. You’ll survive and then you can go back to rolling around in the mud with the other swine.”

Derek ignored her. That damned top button finally came undone and his collar released its itchy grasp from around his throat. He sighed a sweet, beautifully unrestricted sigh of relief. “I still don’t understand why we have to be here for this.”

“Because, tradition and what not,” Cora rolled her eyes. “Who cares,it’s only twice a year. It’s better than sitting through those awful court dinners. Everyone there is so boring, but I find the Scholars fascinating”

“Of course you do,” Derek looked down at his little sister. “But once you’ve met as many as I have, you’ll find that they are all pretty much the same.” Cora raised one brow at him, a particular expression she had inherited from their mother at a shockingly early age.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “I can only hope to be as wise as you when I reach the old age of nine.”

Derek’s retort was stopped short by the rapid footsteps sounding from the hall. Their mother appeared with her skirts and robe flowing around her like a dust cloud as she strode in. Derek didn’t think he had ever seen his mother go anywhere leisurely. Always with purpose.

“Laura, darling, let me have a look at you.” She stopped in front of her eldest child, clasping her on the shoulders with a smile. “Beautiful as ever. Derek?” her nimble fingers quickly redid the top button. “There you are, my handsome little lord.” His brow furrowed as she moved on to Cora, but he held his tongue.  
Once all three of the Hale children had earned her seal of approval, their mother stood before them, a soft smile on her lips. “Alright, children. The High Deaton shall be here any minute with his Scholars. Now, I know I tell you this every time, but remember to be on your best behavior. Laura, remember that the Scholars are our guests. You do not need to correct them over every little thing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Laura gave a nod, but Derek could see the little glint of rebellion in her eye.

“Derek,” his mother fixed him a look, “I expect your greatest manners when we dine. And try not to act so openly disdainful towards them. They’ve traveled far and are weary, which means they have no energy to put up with your sour face.”

“Yes ma’am,” muttered, eyes down toward the floor.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes ma’am,” he repeated clearly and carefully, looking up to meet her gaze. It seemed to appease her, as her stormy eyes moved from him to Cora.

“Cora, please don’t bombard them with questions like last time. These few days are their only chance to rest and eat warmly on their journey. They don’t need a curious little creature asking about all the secrets of the universe.”

“Am I a cute little creature?” Cora asked, her chest puffed up high. Their mother grinned, reaching out and pinching a tiny cheek between her fingers.

“Of course you are, my darling.”

Derek snorted at his little sister’s blatant, sugary pandering.

“Lady Hale,” a servant appeared in the archway at the end of the dining hall. “They’ve arrived.”

“Send them in.” She waved him off down the corridor. Moments later, a familiar face appeared at the mouth of the hall with a gaggle of kids from around Derek’s age to mostly grown following behind him.

The High Deaton wasn’t a particularly tall man. He wasn’t particularly imposing in any way…. physically. However he always had a particular air about him that was captivating, like watching the quiet sky just before a mighty storm. His skin was the color of chestnuts, which Derek had heard was the norm in the south eastern part of the land, but wasn’t as common here. The light from the chandelier mother had the servants light earlier danced across his bald head in fantastic orange hues. 

When Derek was very little, he had once asked the Deaton if he could pet his head. His mother had been mortified and rushed him away, but the Deaton had simply chuckled. He was like a distant uncle to Derek and the girls. They saw him no more than twice a year, but he was always a welcome guest. With his familiarity to the Hale family, Derek truly didn’t understand why he had to dress like he was next in line for the throne whenever the Deaton arrived.

“May I present, the Grand High Deaton of Beacon Rock,” the house steward called, “and his Scholars of Spell Craft.”

“Deaton!” Mother exclaimed, face brightening as she saw her old friend.

“Lady Hale,” he said, splaying his arms wide as he crossed the hall in long strides. “Looking as radiant as ever.” He took her hands and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. She smiled back at him.

“How has the journey been? We had such terrible storms here this week past.”

The Deaton shook his head, “Missed us entirely,” he assured her. “The journey has been wonderful, as always. But of course, my feet will be quite grateful to rest for the solstice, as will my students.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the group of people hovering in the archway, all dressed in similar, light gray travelers robes. “Come in, come in. Scholars, what do we say to the Countess?”

“We thank you, Lady Hale,” they said together, bowing their heads to Derek’s mother.

“Of course, darlings,” she told them. She gestured back toward her children. “It is our pleasure.”

“Students,” Deaton turned to face his pupils, “Please head to the guest chambers and dress to dine. Food will be served at half the hour. Older students, please help the younger ones.” They started to shuffle off, but before they could all disappear, he called out, “Miss Morrell, could you please bring Mister Stilinski over here? I’d like to introduce him to our hosts.”

One of the older students, a rather pretty lady (if Derek did say so)with skin almost as dark as the Deaton, and sleek hair parted down the middle, nodded her head. “Of course, sir.” She disappeared into the heard of students as they moved toward their rooms before soon returning with a tiny, pale hand held in her own.

“New student, Deaton?” Lady Hale asked. The High Deaton nodded.

“Yes, a rather curious boy from a small village up in the Golden Mountains.”

“He’s a bit young to be a scholar, is he not?” she asked him quietly. Derek couldn’t see the boy. He was hiding behind the Morrell woman’s leg, but judging from the little fingers that curled around the young woman’s hand, he couldn’t be much older than Cora.

“He will soon reach his seventh year of age,” the Deaton told her. He crouched down to a much lower level and held out his hand. “Mister Stilinski, it’s alright. I’d like for you to meet the family of the house.”

Very slowly, a shy face peered out from behind Miss Morrell. Derek frowned has he looked upon the boys face. There was something strange about him. Something within his elvish features, his messy short hair, and too big ears that seemed to draw Derek in. A feeling in the pit of his stomach grew, a strange mix of what was not quite excitement and not quite fear. The same kind of feeling he used to get when he and Laura would go out to the old well and toss stones down it; waiting to hear the sounds the stones made at the bottom. Anticipation? He supposed that was as good a word for it as any. But for what, he didn’t know. All he knew was that there was an expectation that grew in him for… something.

Big, golden brown eyes looked up at Derek’s mother as he took the Deaton’s hand. “Hello, my Lady,” he said, voice as small as the rest of him, before he bowed politely.

“Hello, Mister… what was it again?”

“Stilinski,” the Deaton prompted.

“Hello Mister Stilinski. It’s very ni—” Lady Hale’s voice suddenly cut off. Derek waited for her to continue, but nothing came. He glanced up at her.

She was completely still. Like a statue. Her mouth hung open mid-word and her eyes remained unblinking. He looked past her to where Laura stood, just as unmoving. His eyes darted around the room: to Cora, to the Deaton. Not a single one of them even twitched in the slightest.  
It was when he caught sight of the candles up on the chandelier that he knew something was really off. The flames did not flicker. Not even a little. The golden light they cast off that normally waxed and waned across stone walls and vaulted ceilings was still. “Wha—” he let out a confused cry.

“You… you’re not frozen,” a small voice said. Derek’s gaze shot to the boy in front of him who was staring back at him with eyes so wide Derek thought they may pop right out of his head.  
“What is-” but he was interrupted by his mother suddenly speaking again and what sounded like a tremendous gust of wind rushing through his ears as all the background noises he didn’t know he’d been hearing suddenly resumed

“—ice to meet you. I hope you’ll enjoy your time here. Cora, honey?” she waved Cora forward. “Cora here is your age. I’m sure you’ll get on wonderfully while you’re staying with us.”

“Absolutely,” Cora chirped, rocking up on her toes. But the boy wasn’t looking at her, or Lady Hale. He was staring decidedly at Derek, still looking like he had seen a ghost.

“I—I—uh…” he seemed to remember where he was, eyes darting back and forth between all the Hales like a cornered animal. Finally he landed on the Deaton. “Um… sir, it happened again.” The Deaton immediately nodded and rose.

“Deep breaths, Mister Stilinski. Miss Morrell, will you please show him to the guest chambers and make sure he’s ready for dinner.”

“Of course sir,” the woman said before taking the boys hand back in her own.

“I apologize, that had nothing to do with you I assure you,” Derek heard the Deaton say, but it seemed so far away. All he that he was fully aware of was the boy trying to keep pace with Miss Morrell as he kept trying to look back over his shoulder at Derek. “He has some… difficulties relating to his new found magical aptitude. We are working on it.”

“Of course. I understand,” his mother said.”I’m sure you’re exhausted, dear. Why don’t you go dress for dinner and get out of that dreary cloak.”

“I think I’ll do just that,” he smiled at her.

As he took his leave, Derek’s mother turned to them. “Children, go wash for dinner. And remember,” she gave each of them a stern look, “best behavior.”

The dinner was rather uneventful. Derek had no interest in listening to the Scholars prattle on about their journey. It was always the same every solstice. When they were heading from the south to the north, they complained of the retched heat. When they traveled from the north to the south, all they talked about was escaping the bitter cold.

Cora seemed thrilled, however. She was seated toward the end of the table, questions flying from her lips faster than a jackrabbit. Across from her, a poor boy who seemed a few years older than Laura was doing his best to give her every little detail of his studies of apparentiomancy, listing all the different ways he could fool the mind and trick the senses.

However, seated next to the apparentiomancer was the boy from earlier, looking especially dwarfed in the grand backed chairs that lined the table. Derek suspected that this was his mother’s doing to try and kindle a friendship between the boy and Cora. She had done the same with Laura and every boy close to her age for as long as Derek could remember, and tried to do the same with Derek when a young druid girl only a year older than him joined the Scholars last year. Very rarely did a scholar not ascend to greatness after they graduated, either as court wizards for the king and the military, as healers or enchanters in the villages, or as the explorers that sailed off and would return years later with thrilling tales of adventure. It was considered a position of high esteem to be the spouse of a scholar. Yet Derek’s mother had stopped trying to force the girl upon him whenever their last attempt to play together resulted in Derek pushing her down a hill. It was an accident… mostly.

The boy, from his place next to Cora’s latest interrogation victim, kept looking over Derek’s way. It did not go unnoticed. Every time Derek so much as glanced in that general direction, those big brown eyes were trained on him and only him. Derek let his mind wander back to what had happened earlier. 

It was bizarre. He had never seen magic quite like it. His father had once told him of a mage who could enter the minds of others with his own and control them like puppets, though Derek had only heard of him controlling one other at a time. And to control someone so fully that their chest not fill with breath? It made no sense. Not to mention that the boy had even managed to stop the flicker of a candle’s flame. No pyromancer Derek had ever seen could do that. The more and more Derek thought about that moment, the more questions he had, the main question being… why was he not affected?

Later that night, Derek lay up in his bed and stared up at the cracked stone of his ceiling. With the light of the full moon streaming through his window, there was little desire to sleep within him. He adored the full moon, especially on a clear night such as this. He loved the way it dominated the sky. The way it outshone the stars around it. Demanded that you look at it, but it would never blind you like the sun.

On nights like these he had a favorite spot to go. It was a simple balcony off of the second story of the manor, over in the southeast corner. He hurried through the corridor, careful to step extra light with his bare feet as he passed his mother’s chambers, and trotted down the stairs. He could see it at the end, past all the rooms. Yet Derek was surprised to see the silhouette of someone already there. A small frame that was black against the bright moonlight background. Derek continued forward, but much slower this time. One cautious step in front of the other. The figure turned to face him, and its shoulders tensed.

“H-hi…” it said, apprehensive, and Derek could tell it was the boy from before. As he stepped onto the balcony, the light of the moon illuminated his pale skin.

“Hi,” Derek said, eying the boy with careful regard. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he answered simply. “And I like to look at the moon.” Derek hummed in acknowledgment and let his eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the night air soaking into his skin.The boy stood silent, his widened pupils glancing at Derek and then darting away. Glancing and darting. Glancing and darting. Finally, Derek couldn’t take it. “So… um… what happened earlier?” he asked the boy. A guilty look spread across his face, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly.

“I don’t actually know,” he said. “It happens sometimes. Started about a year ago.”

“So you don’t know what… what it is?”

The boy shook his head. “My father wrote to the High Deaton when it started. He told him I was disappearing and reappearing in different places, but that’s not it. I don’t disappear at all. I’m just there and everyone else around me stops. And if I don’t stay like a statue too, they act like they don’t understand where I’ve gone. It’s-it’s scary.”

“Wow,” was all Derek could think to say as he looked out at the night sky, the shadows of the city sprawling out before them. “It definitely scared me earlier.” He waited for the boy to say something else; to somehow acknowledge Derek’s attempt to empathize, but he was quiet. When Derek turned to look at the boy and see what had caught his tongue, he felt suddenly too self aware. The boy had his brow furrowed in a quizzical expression, lips pursed as his studying gaze made Derek feel like one of his schooling books.

“Are you like me?” he finally asked Derek, head tilting just a bit in curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have magic in you? That’s what the Deaton says it is. Magic in me that I don’t know how to let out yet.”

“No,” Derek laughed. “No not a bit.”

“Do your sisters?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “We’re lucky enough to have just enough royalty in our blood that my mother holds this region for the King, but that is the only curious thing within us.”

“You’re the first to not be frozen,” the boy said. Derek frowned.

“What?”

“Of all the times it has happened. I’ve seen birds stop mid-flight but not fall down. The waters in the river have looked as still as glass. But you,” the slightest of grins tugged at the edges of the boys lips, “you could move too. Like me.”

“Well by the gods, I have no idea why,” Derek said, but he smiled a little too. There was something charming about the boy. Derek wasn’t sure if it was his impish appearance, or his curious magical condition, but Derek wanted to know more of him. “What is your name?” The boys face pinched all over in the tightest of frowns. He mumbled something that Derek couldn’t quite hear. “What?” Derek asked again.

“Mieczyslaw… Stilinski,” he added his family name as an afterthought. Derek’s brows raised.

“That’s,” he searched carefully for the right word, “a mouthful.”

“The other kids in the Scholars have started calling me Stiles,” he said.

“Thank the gods, that I think I can say,” Derek laughed. He held his hand out to the boy who took it, face breaking out into a full smile. “I’m Derek.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“So…” Derek asked, leaning against the rough stone edge of the balcony banister. “Do you have any other cool tricks?”


	2. The Great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's two years later (Stiles- age 8 and Derek age-11) for the majority of this chapter and the boys' friendship has grown. On one of Stiles's visits, they go for a swim. This chapter is just a look into what their lives are like when they're together.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter does include underage nudity. It is not sexual in any way. I included this scene for a bit of exposition and to show both their remaining boyhood innocence and their growing comfort with one another. However, if you're not comfortable with this, skip to the chapter note at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive reception on the first chapter so far! Here's a short one to continue the story. Each new chapter will take place at least 2 years after the previous one. After this chapter, I have another like it that mostly establishes their friendship, and then after that the romance begins to pick up. Kudos and comments are always welcome. Hope you enjoy!

Stiles had spent much of his stay at the Hale Manor that solstice showing Derek the few things he had learned in his short stay with the Scholars. Simple tricks like extinguishing a candle’s flame from afar or levitating a pebble. The basic things they started teaching all of the new Scholars.

When he and the Scholars left the Manor to continue on their journey north, Derek had kicked the dirt around his feet before wishing Stiles an uneager goodbye. When half the year passed and the Scholars began to travel south for the winter and spring months, all Stiles could feel as they approached the city where they would rest for the solstice was an excitement to show everything he had learned up north to his new friend.

And that’s how it went. Solstice after solstice. Year after year. Stiles would perform whatever new magical party tricks he had acquired for Derek and sometimes Cora, whom he liked but who asked so many questions that he preferred it when it was just he and Derek. Derek, who would excitedly watch in amazement at every little thing Stiles would do, and then immediately act all tough as he’d gruffly tell Stiles, “Come on, I want to show you something,” and lead him on and adventure through the Manor, or the grounds, or out into the surrounding city.

Despite the three years of age between them, Stiles always found it thrilling to try and keep up with the older boy. Even try to out do him, which he was getting better and better at.

Which is how, by his fifth solstice with the Scholars, 2 years after that night when they first met, he had managed to race past Derek once he had seen through the trees the small river that Derek was leading them to. As he ran he undid the ties of his robes and let them fall off of him. The wind whipped past his bare skin and the chill of the water sent a shock through him as he plunged in immediately up to his waist.

“Hey!” Derek had cried out after him before taking off as fast as he could. Derek’s tunic and trousers were shed amongst the rocks before he jumped in too, splashing Stiles in the process.

The two boys swam around for hours, splashing and kicking their way through the crisp water until Stiles limbs began to ache. He trudged out onto the bank and sat down, the weather worn rocks digging into his bare bottom. When Derek came out to join him, the two sat silently side by side for a moment before Stiles reached down and grabbed a thin, smooth rock.

Derek watched him out of the corner of his eye as Stiles lay the rock in the palm of his hand. He took a deep breath and an expression as blank as the blue sky settled on his face. No brow furrowed in concentration or jaw clenched in effort. Just a look of calm serenity that always amused Derek, because once Stiles had outgrown his reticence Derek had learned that he was really quite… rambunctious (and he could talk as much as Cora).

The stone began to slowly rise a few inches off of the pruney hand it lay on and revolve where it hovered in the air. Then the stone shot forward and into the water, skipping six… seven… eight times across the blue surface.

Stiles looked over to Derek, a sense of hope and expectation simmering warm and pleasant in his stomach. Derek’s lips were upturned in a rare smile. Stiles always felt like he had won some great victory when he could make Derek smile like that. He knew that Derek wasn’t as grumpy as he always seemed. His face was just always set in a rather annoyed expression. So when Stiles could change that, it gave him at least a little sense of accomplishment.

Stiles grabbed another stone off the bank and did it again. And again. And again. After his third try, Derek began searching for rocks to try and out skip him. It soon became another kind of competition altogether as the boys scoured the river’s edge for the best skipping rocks for their arsenal.

It was when Derek stumbled across the gravely bank and let his bounty tumble from his arms that Stiles noticed something curious. He looked down, a steady eye taking in his own body. The pale skin and spotted with dark moles. The little pudge of baby fat he had on his belly. His smooth legs. Then he looked back over at Derek.

"Why..." he asked, head tilting ever so slightly in curiosity. "Why does yours look like that?" He nodded towards the other boys groin. Derek stopped, taken aback. 

"Huh?" he followed Stiles eyes between his his legs.

"Why does yours looks so different than mine?" He clambered to his feet and stared down at his own parts.

"Um... well," redness crept up Derek's chest, past his neck and onto his cheeks. "It's because I'm older than you. And because you're from the mountains."

Stiles frowned, noticing how Derek's was bigger than his own and had an almost hood over it. How his pouch of skin below it hung lower than Stiles's did. How thick black hairs were starting to sprout at the base like the first growth of spring.

"Because I'm from the mountains... my parts are bare?"

"What?" Derek frowned in confusion for a moment before chuckling as he realized. "No. You're bare because you're not old enough yet. Mine has started to grow hair because I've started to become a man. But Mother has told me before that it's common for people in the mountains and in the Isles to cut off part of theirs whenever they're born."

"They've cut off part of my manhood?" Stiles eyes went wide.

"Well yeah, but its fine. Lots of people have it done. You're just missing this little bit here," with two fingers he pulled back the hood that covered the end of his thing.

"And the hair," Stiles repeated with care and deliberation, "It's only because I've yet to reach manhood?"

"Yes," Derek told him. "It'll start to come in the next few years." He paused, something that looked a bit like pride or cockiness shadowed his lips. "Mine has started   
early because I'm going to be great man," he stated, matter of fact. Stiles laughed.

"Is that how that works?"

"Yeah!" Derek protested against Stiles mocking giggling and pushed him on the shoulder. "What would you know? You didn't even realize your parts had been altered!"

"So?" Stiles cried out, giving Derek a shove back, but the older boy was bigger than him and he barely budged.

"You just see," Derek said as he ignored Stiles's feeble attempt at throwing him off balance. He reached down to where his skipping rocks lay and picked up one with a pinkish hue. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be a warrior so great," he flung the rock out to the water and where it bounced across the surface, "they'll write songs of me."

“Sure sure,” Stiles said. When Derek picked up another stone and threw it towards the water, it froze in the air just a few inches above the water, which now stood still. 

This was not the first time Derek had seen the water stuck in a particular moment in time, but it was always eerie. As if someone had taken the water at that specific second and cast in glass.

Stiles, however, loved the stillness of it. The way the peaks of each ripple stood solid and the plants that grew along the button were stuck in a timeless wave to him. 

“Sorry,” Stiles told Derek as the older boy’s grunt of frustration reminded Stiles that this wasn’t the norm. Stiles breathed in through his nose and then out through his mouth, imagining with each breath that he was drawing in more control and expelling any fears.

The ripple of the water came roaring back to life and the stone skipped happily across it. Stiles eyed Derek, a sense of appreciation warm in his belly.

The High Deaton wasn’t sure why Derek wasn’t affected by Stiles’s magic. His best explanation was that when the world stopped, it was because Stiles had stepped into his own, personal bubble of time, and for whatever reason (the Deaton thought it was because Stiles could sense and Derek’s burgeoning friendship) Stiles would automatically draw Derek into that bubble with him.

Whatever it was, Stiles was simply grateful to not be alone in those terrifying moments of stillness. It was because of the company that he was able to appreciate the static beauty around him and not feel suffocated by the silence. He smiled to himself, drinking in the warmth of the sun on his skin as his friend played next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you did decide to skip this chapter, no worries. The key points in this chapter that are relevant later on are that Stiles's powers are growing and Derek wants to be a warrior.


	3. The Wolf Hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go on another little adventure and Derek dreams big.
> 
> Stiles age-11 Derek age-14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. I had hoped to post this chapter sooner, but here it is now :P Good news is thought that I'm almost done with the next one already (6 hours in a car both ways for a wedding will do that), so that should be up sometime tomorrow (or maybe tonight if I'm feelin' bad). Thanks for all the kudos and comments. Hope you enjoy.

As the years went on, Derek spent more and more time out on the grounds with his wooden sword, practicing every drill he would see the soldiers in the city barracks doing. Of course when the Scholars came around, Stiles was always happy to watch and cheer him on as Derek did with him.

This particular visit was different, though. Stiles and Derek were up in Derek's chambers, Stiles holding a thistle he had plucked from the edge of the manor. Held tightly in his hands, Stiles eyes were screwed shut in concentration, focusing everything he could on the thistle. 

Derek watched in awe as, with but a twitch at first and then all at once, the thistle shriveled and blackened as it withered to near nothing in Stiles's palm.

"Amazing," Derek breathed low. Stiles smiled, proud.

"Now watch," he said, and let out a long, slow breath. The thistle began to rejuvenate, color returning to its blackened state and it filled back up with life. Returned to its previous state, Stiles held the plant and beamed up at Derek. "That's taken me forever to learn."

Stiles's training had been becoming more and more specialized with the Scholars. He still wasn't quite sure why, but often during lessons he'd be pulled aside and given a different task. At first he thought it was because he was still one of the youngest Scholars, but when he had talked to one of the others about it, they had never heard of some of the things they were asking Stiles to do. Things like aging and de-aging objects like the thistle, or using his mind to slow down the wings of a fly in the air, or freezing time but then trying to unfreeze more and more people one at a time. With that last one, Stiles had had a little success with the Deaton, but it was hard. He had yet to find anyone who could move into his own immobile time as easily as Derek could.

“Fantastic,” Derek beamed at him. Stiles tossed the thistle aside, letting it fly out the window. His feet dangling, kicking restlessly in the air from where they hung over the side of the bed, he looked up at Derek.

“So… what now? Where to today?”

A smirk spread across Derek’s lips, eyes glinting mischievously. “I’ve got somewhere to show you, but I’ll need your help to get there.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, follow me.” Derek grabbed Stiles by the wrist and began to drag him through the manor, out onto the grounds, and then out past the property line into the rest of the city. The cacophony of voices thrummed through the city like a pulse as people went about their business. Horse hooves clopped against the same cobblestone that the two boys scampered across, Stiles doing his best to keep up with the way Derek wove through the crowds.

The sharp sound of metal clanging against metal began to cut through the noise of the city’s people as they came to a stop in front of one of the larger shops in the square. Stiles took a step toward the entrance, but Derek nabbed him by the back of the tunic.

“Hold on,” he said. He peeked in the door. Stiles frowned, trying to sneak a glance as well. Inside was a counter. Hanging along the back wall was everything from a dagger, to a cleaver, to gardening tools that had gathered a faint sheen of dust.. Derek turned to Stiles, excitement bubbling just below the surface as he told him, “Last time I was here, the smith told me a secret… all the stuff he keeps in the back.”

“Like what?” Stiles frowned. Derek smirked at him.

“Get us back there and you’ll see.”

Stiles sighed, but grabbed Derek’s hands in his own and closed his eyes. He didn’t need to hold onto Derek for this, but it always seemed to help. Eyes closed, Stiles searched for that little spark inside his mind. The one he had wrestled with for so long to get under control. Once he found it he let it go, funneling his focus into it until he could feel it ever expanding outward. Out past the recesses of his mind and into the rest of the world. And the world went silent except for the sound of his and Derek’s breathing. 

He cracked an eye open, checking everyone around them to make sure it had worked. He knew it had, but still. It felt so strange to do it on purpose when it had scared him for so long. Yet once he felt sure that it had taken and that the two of them were the only ones still moving about, he relaxed and released Derek’s hands.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Derek stepped, light and cautious, into the smith’s shop. As if stepping too loud would shatter Stiles’s hold on the present. He waved for Stiles to join him. Stiles rolled his eyes and just walked past him as he stood there still trying to sneak. Past the counter was a doorway to the back. When Stiles walked through and turned to see what could be stashed there, he gasped.

Out the back he could see the blacksmith stuck mid blow as he hammered on a piece. But that wasn’t what had his attention. What Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes from were the stacks and stacks of armored breast plates, shields, swords, lances, and the like organized neatly against the far wall. All of which were emblazoned with the face of a snarling wolf, its eyes filled with the fire of the sun reflecting off of the cold steel.

“Fantastic, isn’t it?” Derek said, stepping up behind Stiles. “I didn’t know it, but apparently he makes a fair bit of the armor and weapons for the Wolf Hounds. The guard comes once a year to collect.”

Stiles could feel himself being drawn closer and closer to the armor, a hand reaching out to run over the grooves of the wolf’s wrinkled nose on one of the breast plates. It was strange to see up close. He had only caught glimpses of the Wolf Hounds before. Quick looks that he would get while clambering over the other Scholars to see the king’s private guard when they would meet with the wizarding counsel, including the Deaton. They were the stuff of legend. The elite of the elite said to be able to topple entire kingdoms with no more than five men. To see their armor here like this, Stiles felt almost like he was violating them.

“Whoa,” he said in a breath of awe. He turned excitedly to look back at Derek, who was also studying the armor, though he didn’t have the same look of wonder in his eye. He had that look that Stiles had seen before. That look that was oh so Derek. All stoic and serious far beyond Derek’s 14 years of age. It happened any time Derek spoke of his plans to join the army, or discussed with Stiles how he would organize troops to protect the borders, or how he felt city patrols should behave to best serve their citizens.

“I’ll wear that one day,” he nodded toward the breastplate beneath Stiles’s fingertips. Stiles broke out in a grin. His friend’s aspirations never failed to reach higher and higher.

“You wish to be a Wolf Hound?”

“Of course,” Derek’s brow pinched together in a quizzical look. “Why would I strive to be anything but the best?” Stiles shrugged because, well, he didn’t have a good answer to that.

“You know they only invite heroes in battle to join, right?”

Derek shrugged back at him. “Then I’ll ride into battle and become a hero,” he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Stiles laughed, clapping his friend on the back.

“Whatever you say.” He started toward the doorway back to the front of the shop and Derek followed. As they made their way back out into the city streets, Stiles could feel the bits of his magic in the air, and with his thoughts he reached out, forming them into a bubble that he drew back into himself until it was but the tiniest kernel within him and the people of the city began to move. And time went onward.


	4. The Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has just turned 13 in this chapter and Derek is 15 . They have a little talk about what it means to get older and their friendship reaches a new level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I finished this chapter and was going to wait to post it, but I was too excited. Romantic things finally start happening and I couldn't resist. Let me know what you all think.

“It’s ridiculous!” Derek cried out, hands flying up in the air as Stiles watched him pace back and forth from his spot sat criss-crossed on Derek’s bed.

“I agree,” he said evenly, hoping by projecting calmness outward it may soothe his friend.

“She… she _forbids_ me. As if I’m still a babe!” Derek flung himself onto the bed next to Stiles. “Boys younger than I join the city guard every day. It’s not as if I’d be in actual combat here.”

“I know.”

“How am I to become a Wolf Hound if I have no experience,” he huffed, head lolling over to look at Stiles. Stiles shrugged. “And she goes on about how she cannot risk anything happening to me because of my duties here,” he continued. “What duties? I am a poppet, to be dressed up and flaunted to make her look good. And when she is old? Laura will take over and I’ll be her poppet.” Stiles laid down with a sigh. The crown of his head bumped into Derek’s as the two stared up at the ceiling.

“It is quite silly,” he agreed. “Not just because of your lack of real duties around here, but because you are very much your own person.”

“Yeah.” The down stuffed mattress shifted as Derek adjusted a bit, pulling away from Stiles.

“Not often,” Stiles thought aloud, “but sometimes I feel a similar anger toward my lot in life. I am forever grateful to the Scholars, but it does often feel as if they’ve laid out my life for me. Especially now…”

“Of course!” Derek shot up, jumping off of the bed and running over to his wardrobe. As he began to frantically dig he said, “I almost forgot.”

“What?” Stiles asked with a frown. Derek whipped around, hands clasped tight behind his back and his lips pursed in a tight smile.

“Your present.”

“Present?” Stiles sat up, swinging his legs around to dangle off of the bed. He gripped the edge of the mattress and leaned forward curiously. Derek nodded. “You’ve never gotten me a present…”

“I know, Derek said, coming toward Stiles while carefully angling his body to continue to obscure Stiles’s view. “But not only have you just reached your _thirteenth_ year, but Mother told me you had received your classification. A gift seemed fitting.”

“Oh,” Stiles blushed. He hadn’t known that Derek had heard of his classification. It was certainly a right of passage in the Scholars to have the High Wizards officially tell you what magic you were to focus on, though most had a good idea early on. The floramancers were typically those that passed their free time in the gardens, the pyromancers constantly playing with their flames, the salutomancers helping every poor injured creature they could. And while Stiles had done well in all those lessons, and quite enjoyed his work with apparentiomancy and alchimia, none of the typical schools had stuck out to him. He really had had no idea what to expect when he went before the council. When he had left his classifications with a new title, one that none had ever heard before, it had caused ripples of whispers all through out the Scholars. Far more attention than Stiles preferred. Especially when he was immediately trotted out to the front when the King came to visit. His Royal Highness had eyed Stiles like a curious exotic animal, and Stiles could feel the longing he had to add him to his zoo.

“Close your eyes,” Derek told him, “and hold out your hands.” Stiles did as he was asked, eyes screwed tight and hands outstretched when he felt something slick and cold be placed in his palm. It was a considerable weight for its size, and Stiles could feel excitement and curiosity start to simmer inside him.

“Can I open them?” he asked.

“You may.” Stiles’s eyes shot open and took a second to fully take in what sat in his palm. “It seemed fitting for the first known chronomancer,” Derek said sheepishly as he scratched at the back of his neck. The long silver chain that sparkled bright in the sunlight that streamed through the window. The polished surface so clear it was like a mirror. He clicked the clasp and opened it up to reveal a watch whose Mother of Pearl facing caused it to shimmer with a rainbowed burst of colors. The hands of the watch were a fiery copper, each with tiny curves and detail that seemed impossible for its size.

“It’s beautiful,” he said in awe at the pocket watch. Derek was avoiding his gaze.

“It’s uh… it’s got something on the back too,” he mumbled. The watched snapped shut with a click. Stiles appreciated the flawless smoothness of the silver in his hands as he turned it over. There on the back, words were etched in fancy scrawling script. Stiles let out a laugh too loud for the quiet room when he read them.

_So you may always keep time_

“It’s dumb. I can have it grinded off and repolished if you don’t like it,” Derek said, reaching for the watch. Stiles yanked it back, clutching it to his chest.

“I love it,” he said. Derek froze.

“Really?” His brows raised in uncertainty, but his face finally relaxed when Stiles nodded.

“It’s wonderful.”

“Okay…” The slightest of smiles piqued at the edges of Derek’s lips. “Good.” Stiles hopped up off the bed and wrapped Derek in a tight hug, hoping the harder he squeezed the more his gratitude would seep into Derek. Other than his mother’s ring which his father had put on a chain and given to him after she passed, and the occasional trinket he got with his father’s letters, Stiles hadn’t really gotten any gifts. Definitely not one as nice as this.

Derek was completely rigid in Stiles’s grasp, arms pinned to his side and body stiff as a board, but Stiles didn’t mind. When Derek awkwardly cleared his throat, Stiles finally pulled away. “Sorry, it’s just…” the words to express his thanks floated in the air around him, but he couldn’t quite grasp them. “It’s a very nice watch.”

“That’s alright,” he smoothed down the front of his tunic. “I’m glad you like it.” A silence befell the two boys and Stiles laid back down on the bed. No part of his new watch went unnoticed as he held it above him and examined every groove and curve.

“Do you find it odd that we’ve known each other for nearly seven years?” he finally said after a while. Derek had settled on the bed too, knees drawn up to his chest and his cheek resting on them just above where Stiles’s head lay. 

“I suppose.”

“It’s just,” Stiles craned his neck to look back at Derek, staring up at the older boy as he said, “that’s more than half my life. It feels strange to realize.”

“Perhaps because we only actually see each other twice a year. That’s why it seems strange.”

“Perhaps,” he thought about it. “I think it’s more just the progression of time ever onward is always strange. I know that’s a little funny coming from me, but you know what I mean? It’s weird to thing about how much we’ve changed.” And it was true. Stiles’s chubby cheeks and baby fat were all but gone. He was becoming rather lanky whereas Derek on the other had started to develop the muscles of a man from all his time training. Derek snorted a laugh.

“It is strange, but not in a bad way.”

“I suppose not. There are perks to getting older.”

“Absolutely,” Derek said. Stiles could hear the longing in his voice when he added, “Like actual freedom.” Stiles smiled at that.

“Yeah, freedom. And I’d like to be taller.”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Taller. Wiser.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles folded his hands together and let them rest on his stomach. “I’m pretty wise already.” He let out a sharp cry of pained surprise as Derek delivered a quick slap to the top of his head.

“Sure you are. Not all of us spend all day studying though.”

“That’s true. Some spend all day playing with swords,” Stiles retorted. Derek’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything for a while.

“Girls,” he finally said quietly. Stiles frowned.

“What?”

“Girls,” he repeated. “Another benefit to growing older. We get to meet mroe girls.”

“Ahhh….” He said. Butterflies started to stir in his stomach for some reason. He wasn’t sure why. “Right. Girls.” Silence for a moment and then, “Have you… have you met many girls? You know, ones that you’re interested in?” Derek shook his head, fingers picking at the threads of his sheets.

“Not really. There is one, but—”

“Who?” Stiles interrupted.

“Do you know the family Argent?” Derek asked, cheeks reddening a bit as he looked down at Stiles. Stiles nodded. Of course. The Lord Argent was count of a hold along the eastern border, though Stiles had never been there. The Argents were known for being particularly unwelcoming, especially to magic users. “Lady Kate. She’s a few years older than I, but I think my mother is trying to sow the seeds of a future union.”

“ _Blech_!” Stiles’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Wed to an Argent?”

“I know,” he agreed. “She’s pretty, but so… sour.” Stiles laughed.

“And you know you’re so pleasant _all_ the time.”

“I’m at least not as scary as her.” He stuck his chin out in defense. “What about you? I can’t imagine you have the chance to meet many girls outside of the Scholars.”

“Not really,” Stiles sighed. “There is one though.”

“The strawberry-haired girl?”

“Yeah, Lydia. How did you know?”

“I’ve just seen you around her a lot since she joined the Scholars,” he said, and Stiles wasn’t quite sure what that tone in Derek’s voice was. Not quite accusatory, but far from casual. Whatever it was, it soothed something in Stiles.

“She’s a sonomancer —a sound witch— and I like her a lot, but I don’t think she’s interested.”

“Why not?” Derek cocked his head. Stiles shrugged as best he could from where he lay. 

“She’s like… scary smart. And I think she knows it. She’s very advanced for sonomancer her age. She can steal your voice like that,” he snapped his fingers, “and I got too close when she was practicing her scream once. I was out cold for hours.” Derek let out a low whistle.

“Impressive. But,” he gave Stiles an awkward pat on the forehead. “Is she so impressive that the Counsel of High Wizards had to create a whole new classification?”

“No…” Stiles smiled to himself at that. “I suppose not.”

“So… I take it you’ve never kissed a girl then?”

“No,” Stiles sighed before cocking a curious brow. “You?” Derek shook his head. A strange calm washed over Stiles at that, and the pause in their conversation hung heavy between them. A thought occurred to him. Something he had seen amongst the Scholars, especially with boys around Derek’s age. Something that had been brought up when Stiles was around ten years of age and the Deaton was explaining love and physical relationships to him and the other Scholars his age. He hesitated to bring it up, but looking up at Derek who was quietly staring off into space, something thick and burning uncoiled inside of Stiles. “You know…” he said, each word a cautious step into deeper and deeper water. “The Deaton says that we magic folk tend to share a common ideal when it comes to that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry and sandy feeling. “Because magic is so ethereal, we’re taught over and over to keep our minds open. In every aspect of life really. So we can forge new possibilities wherever we see fit.”

“Yeah?” Derek’s face was unreadable Stiles heart was hammering in his chest a rapid pace as he nodded.

“Yeah. Even when it comes to gender and relationships.” Derek frowned down at him, but Stiles rambled on. “He says that it’s not uncommon for a male Scholar to couple with another male. Or a female with another female. Or he’s even seen Scholars wed to those who were born with the parts of a man, but the soul of a woman and vice versa. When it comes to relationships it’s just… another possibility to be open to.”

“I see…” Derek said. Stiles could see the gears turning in his head, but where they were leading him, Stiles wasn’t sure. After what felt like an eternity, Derek finally said, “Mother has told me about people like that before. It certainly is… interesting.”

“Yeah.” Stiles clutched tight to the pocket watch to keep his hands from trembling as he said, “So… since _you’ve_ never kissed a girl before and _I’ve_ never kissed a girl before… would you…” Derek’s eyes widened as the gears finally slid into place and it clicked for him.

“Oh,” he said, and Stiles’s cheeks immediately burned bright.

“Forget I said anything,” he spat out quickly, flying off the bed. “It was just a dumb idea.” I… um… uh…” he stammered, eyes flying back and forth between where Derek sat staring at him to the door. “I should get back to the Scholars. We’ve got… stuff to do.” He started booking it for the door, but before he could make it he felt a firm hand close around his wrist.

“Stiles, wait!” Derek blurted out, yanking the younger boy back toward him. Stiles spun around, finding himself just inches from Derek’s chest before looking up at his face. Derek’s mouth opening and closed like a fish desperate for air as he looked for the words. “I… just… with you…” Stiles wished he could just melt into the floor and disappear. He strongly considered trying to freeze Derek for a second, but with his grip on Stiles’s wrist, there was no way Stiles would be able to get free if he did. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“No,” he shook his head as fast as he could. “Like I said, forget it. I was just… talking. You know? How I talk? I—”

“Stiles.” Derek cut him off. Stiles looked up into his deep brown eyes, dark and rich like the chocolate the Scholars would drink in the winter months. His lips parted as if he was about to say something more, but then he froze. And then he ducked his head down and pressed his lips to Stiles.

Stiles was petrified in shock at the sudden warmth of Derek’s soft lips on his, Stiles’s eyebrows shooting up and eyes going wide. It was a simple kiss. Just the pressing of lips against lips, but it sent a fluttering in Stiles’s chest that made him feel like he was about to fly away. Derek pulled back, and it took Stiles a second to remember how to breathe. 

“Wow,” he gasped lightly. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “That was… that was a kiss. With you…” he cleared his throat, “… Stiles.”

“Yep,” Stiles nodded, lips quirked into a smirk. “Yep that’s what it was.” And then when Derek said nothing, he cautiously threw out there, “I uh… I didn’t hate it?”

“No!” Derek said, shaking his head like he had just been pulled from a trance. “No didn’t hate it. Not a bad first kiss. Good practice.”

“Right, good practice.” Stiles gave the older boy a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Good practice.”

“A little basic, though. Right?”

Stiles looked at Derek long and hard, both terrified to the bone that he was misreading this, but also almost trembling with the hope that he wasn’t. “Yeah… a little basic.”

“Should we…” Derek blushed a dark red. “Should we try again? You know? Practice some more?”

“Yeah,” Stiles beamed. “Yeah we should practice some more.” And their lips joined together once again.


End file.
